The Two Messengers
by Ellfine
Summary: One messenger in Valinor bears the consequences of news received from another. Told from Finarfin's perspective.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters in this story. They all belong to Tolkien and I make no money from this. 

**Betas:** GhettoElleth, GeorgiaPiper, Des, Aqua Marina

**Note:** The Quenya names of the characters are used where applicable.  
Arafinwë – Finarfin; Nolofinwë – Fingolfin; Turukano – Turgon; Elwë – Elu Thingol; Elmo – grandfather of Celeborn; Artanis - Galadriel

* * *

**The Two Messengers**

Leaning close to his stallion's neck, he dug his heels into the animal's sides, spurring him on even faster over the barren ground. He had already abandoned the stone road for the rugged trail that served as a shortcut between the two cities to hasten his way.

He wondered to himself, why was he in such a hurry? Nothing would happen, nor could it for years yet. Why did he sense such an urgent need to get home? Did he think to begin preparations tonight? To muster the volunteer armies from three kingdoms for battle, load them onto ships, and sail with the tide at dawn?

Fiery caprice would not serve; that was the very conceit that had brought about this time of sorrow. Wise and steadfast counsel are in order now, he admonished his hasty heart.

With a wry smile, he sat up and drew back on the reins, slowing the sweat-lathered horse to a more merciful gait. Known for being the wise one, patient, never impetuous like his moody elder brothers, they would be speechless with shock if they could see him now. Arafinwë, King of the Noldor and riding as if the very fires of Morgoth himself were at his back. But his brothers could not see him now, and at least one of them would never see him again. Though he held little affection for his eldest sibling, gone now forever, he certainly never had wished for his demise. His other brother, however, was most dear in his heart, and the pain of that loss cut deep. Closing his eyes, he shook his head to clear it of the emotion threatening to breach the carefully constructed fortress he had built to quicken and sustain him against the uneasy news.

* * *

The previous morning, the shimmering, graceful figure of Eärendil the Mariner, arrived unlooked for in Vinyamar, a gem of surpassing beauty bound upon his brow. The brilliance of that Silmaril threatened to pale the sun itself, for no light in all of Eä could compete with the singular radiant power of the jewel of Fëanor. Young Eärendil himself was an equally majestic sight to behold, with his windswept hair of shining gold, his eyes of the deepest sapphire blue, and his clothes covered in a scattering of diamond dust from his trek through the jewel-lined streets of deserted Tirion. In spite of the obvious differences, Arafinwë had easily recognized in the youth, traces of his brother, Nolofinwë, and his nephew, Turukano. 

Rumors abounded as to how Eärendil had managed to evade the confusion of mist, and untangle the many snares that had prevented all others from reaching Valinor. Perhaps it had been the fact that Eärendil had come on such a noble errand, seeking aid for the people of Endor, that gave him the grace to overcome the treacherous obstacles of the journey. Perhaps the Silmaril itself had been the guiding force that led the youth, and his lovely wife Elwing safely to the eastern shore of Aman. Arafinwë could only speculate, for none could say with certainty.

Though it was a time of festival, the Valar immediately called their members to council to hear Eärendil. Even Ulmo drew himself up from the sea to offer his support of Eärendil's supplication. Surprisingly, the kings and lords of the Vanyar and the Noldor had been called to the council as well. Normally the Valar only called scribes or those elves directly impacted by their decisions to attend. But this gathering was anything but normal.

Eärendil made his noble, yet desperate plea for aide, explaining in a voice thick with emotion, the dire predicament of the elves and the Atani of Endor. His heart-breaking entreaty implored the Valar to see the worth of assisting in the fight against Morgoth, pressing them to understand that the battle was not a lost cause. Some of the less impartial members of the council claimed that Eärendil had crossed a line of propriety in simply coming to Aman. They suggested that the Valar send him away empty-handed as further evidence of the shame brought upon the Noldor by the terrible oath of the eldest son of Finwë, insisting that the exiles continue to suffer the consequences of choosing to alienate themselves from the Valar. However, Ulmo fervently supported Eärendil's right to appeal, explaining that this legitimate complaint was the very reason for which the youth had been born. The Lord of the Waters further questioned the consideration of the Valar, asking how they could continue to turn a blind eye toward Morgoth's ill treatment of, not only the Firstborn, but of the Aftercomers as well.

The outcome of this rather tumultuous council had been a deadly promise by the Valar to attack and subdue Morgoth once and for all. They further proclaimed that the Vanyar, the Noldor, and, if they could be persuaded, the Teleri, were to muster troops at once and begin training for an all out war against the Lord of Darkness. Finally, and most unexpectedly, the Valar lifted up and hallowed Vingilot, the mighty ship of Eärendil, with ominous words of how it might prove handy in a fight involving dragons.

* * *

Arafinwë's current mission was to go to his father-in-law, King Olwë of the Teleri, and implore him to provide assistance in this fight. How was he to convince Olwë that Eärendil's coming was the long awaited signal for the Valar to act, and that including the Teleri in this war was the correct position to take? The Teleri were of the opinion that the Valar were not infallible. After all, where had their might been when the Noldor were slaughtering the Telerin mariners on the lamp-lit quays of Alqualondë? That insult would not soon be forgotten, no matter how many ages of the sun passed. Most likely, Olwë would see this all as some flippant excuse for more of his people to die meaningless deaths. Well, if Olwë could not be persuaded to join the battle, perhaps he could be enticed to give ships and mariners sufficient to sail the armies of the Eldar and the Valar to Endor. Arafinwë and King Ingwë of the Vanyar would feel gratitude enough for that at least. And he had just the rope with which to snare Olwë and draw him into rendering such assistance. 

He would remind the Lord of the Teleri, most certain to be indignant at this request, that Olwë's own brothers, Elwë and Elmo, had kin who yet dwelt in Endor, suffering at the hand of Morgoth as well. And if that did not prove enough to sway him, he would remind the silver-haired king that blood of his own regal line yet dwelt there in exile. Olwë's grandchild Artanis, daughter of his only daughter Eärwen, the swan maiden of Alqualondë, yet languished there as well. Yes, family ties form the tightest bonds known to elves. That would be the way to convince Olwë if all else failed.

Unfortunately, that conversation would lead to another that Arafinwë wished to avoid forever, or at least until he could confirm what his heart already feared. Olwë was certain to ask news of his four grandsons, the elder brothers of the lovely Artanis who had followed their Noldorin kin into exile. And Arafinwë knew that he would have no choice but to tell Olwë what he knew…

Breathing fast, Arafinwë felt his defenses begin to crumble. He swayed in the saddle as grief and loss overtook him; the pale moon bearing witness, casting its dim false light upon the trail while the stars glistened like Nienna's tears upon the sky. Dropping the reins, he buried his face in his horse's mane and wept for the loss of his four beautiful sons.

After a time, he pulled himself up straight in the saddle. Wiping a sleeve across his face, he took up the reins again with renewed resolve, denying himself this premature self-indulgence.

No. He would not admit his fear to Olwë. He did not even want to admit it to himself, for admitting it was the first step toward accepting the truth of it. That was something he vowed he would not do, not until someone else could confirm what Eärendil had told him. No! Until he set foot in Endor and learned it for himself, he would not believe it.

His beloved sons could not possibly be dead.


End file.
